


Bad Love

by Sluie92



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sluie92/pseuds/Sluie92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WIP</p><p>Dean wakes up to breakfast with Cas, but something seems off. Slowly he begins to realise that life may not be what it seems...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brand New Cadillac

“Dean, breakfast!”

Dean woke with a start, eyes snapping open. He had been so deeply asleep that for a few moments the world felt like a dream. He shook his head and got out of bed.

“Dean, I’ll eat your pancakes if you don’t get in here!”

Dean replied with a loud grunt and threw on a robe over his boxers. The robe was green, and for a moment he distinctly remembered having a grey one. The moment passed and he padded sleepily into the kitchen.

Sun poured in through the window, illuminating the little room. The round table in the centre was laid out neatly, and Dean took a seat. He picked up his fork and just for a second it felt heavier than usual. He squinted at it, shrugged, and speared a bit of bacon.

“What, no good morning, no thank you? I made this all from scratch, Dean” said Cas, looking up from his paper. He was smiling warmly and wore a ‘kiss the cook’ apron over striped pyjamas. Dean smiled back and leaned across the table to kiss him gently, then went back to his food. Cas shook his head and tucked into his own.

“So, are you nervous about work tomorrow?” asked Cas, sipping his freshly pressed orange juice.

“Work?” said Dean, at a loss.

“The presentation?” prompted Cas. “To the board?” he added, when Dean continued to look blank.

“Oh, yeah, that,” said Dean. “Not really. I mean, I know it’s a big deal but the projections are solid and we already have most of the capital raised, so it shouldn’t be a real hard sell anyway.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” said Cas. “Between Charlie’s brains and your cha-”

A noise sounded from the hallway and Dean stood fast as lightning, knife raised reflexively. Silently he crossed to the doorway and before Cas had chance to stop him he had jumped into the hallway, grabbed the startled intruder and pulled him into the kitchen, knife to his throat.

“Jesus, Dean, it’s me, it’s me!” yelled Sam, looking terrified. “What the hell, man?”

“Oh, uh, my bad?” said Dean, releasing him. He hurriedly dropped the knife on the table and stood back, looking down at his hands in a slightly bewildered manner. When he looked up Cas and his brother were looking at him in much the same way.

“I… Uh…” said Dean, but he had no explanation. He had never wielded a knife in all his life. He shrugged and tried to laugh it off.

“Did… Did you forget Sam was sleeping on our couch?” said Cas slowly.

“Uh, yeah, sorry Sammy,” said Dean, taking his seat.

“Ew, don’t call me Sammy. Sammy is a chubby twelve year old,” said Sam, relaxing a little. He ran his slender fingers through his short, dark hair. “It’s Sam, okay?”

“Whatever Sammy,” said Dean. They all laughed and he felt the tension lessen. “So, remind me what you were doing stinking up my couch again?”

There was a pause, a very pregnant pause, that told Dean he was missing something. He was mad at himself for not remembering, but his mind was blank. He looked desperately at Cas, who made a gesture that Dean didn’t understand. Cas did it again, but it still made no sense to Dean.

“Dean, I know you’re busy and all, and we’re not that close these days, but you’d think you would remember about my house burning down and-” Sam’s voice wavered “-and about J-Jess.”

“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry Sam,” said Dean, remembrance hitting him like a freight train. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Here, Sam, I made pancakes,” said Cas, swooping in with a fresh plate. “Dean and I are just going to have a talk out here,” he said, grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him forcefully into the hall. He closed the door gently, then rounded on his partner.

“What is wrong with you?” said Cas. The concern was clear on his face, bright blue eyes squinting critically at Dean.

“I don’t know,” admitted Dean. “Everything feels… off. Kinda dreamlike, you know?”

“No, I don’t… Have, have you been drinking?” Cas sounded stern and leaned in close, sniffing at Dean’s mouth.

“Dude, it’s like 10am, of course I haven’t been drinking!” protested Dean.

“Good, I’m sorry, I just had to be sure,” said Cas, then frowned. “Since when do you call me dude?”

“Uh, since now? Sorry, honey-bee,” winked Dean.

Cas rolled his eyes, then stretched up to place a soft kiss on Dean’s lips. He started to pull away but Dean put a gentle hand on the small of his back, pulling him back within reach. He grinned and caught Cas’ lips once more, kissing him deeply. His fingers twisted the fabric of Cas’ pyjamas as he pulled him yet closer, pressing their bodies together for a brief moment before he let go.

“What was that for?” Cas breathed into Dean’s neck.

“Because it’s Sunday? For the pancakes? Because the apron told me to? Who cares?”

Cas chuckled.

“Alright, I’mma get dressed and go take a drive, clear my head a bit. Will you take care of Sam for me?” asked Dean.

“I’ll see what I can do. See you later, Mr. WInchester.”

“Adios, Mr. Winchester,” said Dean. He watched Cas disappear back into the kitchen before he went into the bedroom.

Dean took off his robe and admired himself in the mirror for a second, then did a double take and had a closer look. Not only was his body crisscrossed with scars that he could not remember getting, his left shoulder had a red, angry-looking burn mark in the shape of a hand on it. He examined it for a minute, hoping that he would remember where it came from, but he was drawing yet another blank.

Dean felt a slight panic rising and considered calling Cas in, but he didn’t want to cause any more concern. He frowned at his shoulder, puzzled. What the hell was wrong with him today? Was it his memory, or a neurological thing? Should he go to the doctor? He shook his head. No, get dressed, take a drive, clear his head and all would turn out fine.

He took a deep breath and opened the closet, pulling out a pair of jeans at random. Most of the clothes were slacks, suits and shirts, and Dean wasn’t sure which were his and which his partner’s. He rummaged for a bit until he found, at the very back, a Van Halen T-shirt which he knew had to be his, and got dressed. Feeling a little shaken he went into the hall, grabbed keys, wallet and jacket, and left with a yelled goodbye over his shoulder.

Their condo was on the third floor of the building. It was a nice building; clean, modern and with plenty of greenery - in other words, expensive. Dean made his way down the stairs, nodding at various people that seemed to recognise him. He knew their faces, in a vague sort of way, but had trouble putting names to them.

One young woman was giving him a really odd look, staring at him in a way that sent shivers down his spine. Her long white hair fluttered weightlessly in the breeze and she raised a blue-tattooed arm to tuck it behind her ear. Dean looked away from her, narrowly avoiding bumping into a neighbour - who gave him a cheery ‘Hey, careful, Deano!’ - and when he glanced back she was gone. He shrugged it off and continued down the glass-covered stairway.

When he got to the bottom he headed towards the row of shiny cars parked outside, eyes scanning for his own. He spotted a black car at the far end and started towards it, but halfway there he realised that it was a Cadillac. Didn’t he drive an Impala? Looking again, he realised that the entire row was bereft of Impalas. Dean’s brow creased and he questioned his sanity, remembering that, in fact, the Cadillac was his. He got in.

Dean took a few slightly shaky breaths and started the engine. The familiar roar comforted him and he took off, driving aimlessly, wondering if he was going mad. He passed several areas that he recognised and that comforted him further. There was the coffee shop where he and Cas had had their first date. He remembered it clearly, as if it had happened mere seconds ago. And here, a few streets away, was the park where they had kissed for the first time. He remembered that clearly, too. Trouble was, there was nothing connecting those two events. How had they ended up at that park? Had it even been on the same day? He shook his head. Something was definitely wrong.

Dean glanced up at his rear view mirror, eyes widening in shock as he recognised the white-haired girl from his building, sitting plain as day in his back seat. He jerked the steering wheel without meaning to, then jerked it right back the other way to compensate.

The Cadillac was going too fast and Dean had over corrected. As if in slow motion he saw the world turn upside-down as the car flipped onto its roof. Random bits of junk flew past him like he was in space - a pair of sunglasses hit him in the forehead. The impact shattered the windscreen and Dean tried to raise an arm to protect himself from the glass. It was useless; without a seatbelt on he tumbled around like socks in a washing machine. Vaguely he wondered what had happened to the girl, as she didn’t seem to be tumbling around with him, but at that moment he had bigger concerns.

The car slid along the road until another car got in its way. The second impact was larger than the first, sending Dean headlong through the car, through the broken windscreen and into the road. The car he had hit was still in motion, and dazed as Dean was he could only watch as metal death charged towards him, tyres squealing on the asphalt.

* * *

Bad Love (Eric Clapton) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z63iHXAjoNA

Brand New Cadillac (The Clash) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYVLxLvdhpY


	2. Dazed and Confused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dazed and Confused (Led Zeppelin) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ehwSEVbBZl4

“Dean, breakfast!”

Dean woke with a start, inhaling sharply as the image of a car coming towards him faded from his mind. Confused he sat up and looked around, but saw only his ordinary bedroom. He dismissed it as a bad dream and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Dean, I’ll eat your pancakes if you don’t get in here!”

Shaking off a slight feeling of dé-jà vu, Dean shrugged on his big grey robe and followed the smell of sausage into the kitchen. Drizzle pattered at the window and made the room dim. He sat opposite Cas and speared a piece of sausage on his fork.

“What, no good morning, no thank you? I made this all from scratch, Dean,” said Cas, looking up from his paper. He was smiling warmly and wore a ‘Don’t mess with the chef’’ apron over blue pyjamas. Dean smiled back and leaned across the table to kiss him gently, then went back to his food. Cas shook his head and tucked into his own.

“So, are you nervous about work tomorrow?” asked Cas, sipping his freshly pressed apple juice.

“What, the presentation? Not really, no.”

“What presentation?” said Cas, looking confused. ”I meant taking over at the plant... What do you have to give a presentation for?”

Dean paused, stuck. There was no presentation. Why had he said that?

“I don’t. I think I’m still half asleep, ignore me,” he mumbled, shoveling a forkful of egg into his mouth.

Cas squinted at him curiously, but said nothing and continued with his breakfast. They ate in pleasant silence for a few minutes, until there came a knock at the door. Cas got up to answer it, and returned a moment later with a baby in his arms. He was making cooing noises at it, which it seemed to like, as it giggled. Sam followed, waving a greeting.

Dean waved back, then dropped his fork in surprise as he caught sight of someone behind Sam.

“J-Jess?” he said, thunderstruck.

“Uh, yeah?” she said, a little bewildered by his manner. “Who else would it be? Are you alright, Dean? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, n-nothing, I’m fine,” said Dean, scrambling to pick up his fork and look normal, willing the colour to return to his face. He had thought Jess was dead. He wasn’t sure why he thought that, he knew that she was fine and that she and Sam would be visiting. Still, the feeling that something was off nagged at the back of his mind and he could not shake it.

“Dean, I said are you ready to go?” said Sam, sounding a little exasperated.

“Go?” said Dean, coming back to Earth.

“Golf?” said Sam, pointing at the clubs just visible in the hallway. “Like every Sunday?”

“Oh, sure, golf, yeah,” said Dean. He pushed away his half-full plate. “I’ll just go get dressed. Be back in a sec,” he said, and fled the room.

Safe in his bedroom Dean took a few deep breaths to settle himself, then took off his robe and inspected himself in the mirror for a second. His skin was baby-smooth and unblemished, and for some reason that struck him as odd. He was sure he was supposed to have a scar or something. He took a step closer to the mirror, rubbing at his left shoulder as if doing so would reveal… something. It didn’t.

“What are you doing?” asked Cas from the doorway, making Dean jump.

“Oh, uh, nothing?” replied Dean, thoroughly unconvincingly.

“Are you alright? You’ve been acting strangely,” said Cas, bright blue eyes squinting critically at him.

“I don’t know. Everything feels… off. Kinda dreamlike, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” replied Cas, frown deepening. “Have you been drinking?”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” said Dean.

“I haven’t,” said Cas, tilting his head in confusion. The familiar motion always put Dean in mind of a puppy.

“I… But..” said Dean. He was so sure he remembered a very similar scene, but when he tried to think about it it slipped away, like trying to catch soap in the bath.

Cas looked curiously at him for a moment, then sighed and crossed to stand beside him.

“You’ve been working far too hard lately,” he said. “Go out with Sam today and blow off some steam, and when you get back we can watch Die Hard or one of your other macho movies that I don’t understand.”

Dean laughed. “It’s a date.”

Cas sat on the bed and watched Dean pick out jeans and a plaid shirt from the multitude in the closet. When he was dressed, Dean kissed him gently on the forehead.

“See you later, honey-bee,” he said, and went to collect Sam from the kitchen. 

They said goodbye to Jess and little Bobby John, and Sam helped maneuver Dean’s clubs through the narrow hallway and down the steps. They almost bumped into a neighbour going the other way - “Hey, careful, Deano!” - but managed to make it to Dean’s car. Dean opened the trunk and stood back, motioning for Sam to put them inside.

Sam didn’t move. He was staring at Dean’s open trunk with a half terrified, half confused look on his face.

“Dude,” he said. “Wanna explain?”

“Explain what?” said Dean, peering inside to see what his brother was looking at. His trunk was full to the brim with weapons. Guns, knives, a crossbow - there were even throwing stars strapped to the lid. The floor of the trunk was littered with occult bric-a-bric and fake IDs. Strange symbols were scrawled on every available surface.There were stains.

“I… I have no idea. Is this definitely my car?” said Dean, looking at it. The Impala looked the same as it always had, and Dean recognised his own jacket on the back seat. His brow furrowed.

Sam put down the clubs and began to rummage through the things in the trunk. He pulled out a handful of fake IDs and examined them.

“Robert Plant, FBI?” he said, showing it to Dean. “Angus Young, CDC... NSA... CIA… What the hell is this, Dean?”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He had no explanation. He was sure he had never seen any of this crap before, and yet…

Footsteps sounded and Sam threw back the IDs, slamming the lid of the trunk shut to hide the weapons. They watched as a young woman turned the corner. She looked at Dean as she walked by, stared at him in a way that made a shiver run down his spine. She had white hair to her waist, and it fluttered weightlessly on the breeze. Blue tattoos encircled her fingers and rose up her arms like vines until they disappeared beneath her long black dress. She was ethereal.

“Creepy,” muttered Sam.

“No, I… I think I know her,” said Dean, though he wasn’t sure why. “Wait here,” he told Sam, walking towards her.

She sped up as she rounded the corner and Dean broke into a jog to catch up to her. She sped up further, but somehow she appeared to be walking at a normal pace. Dean began to run but still could not catch up to her.

“Wait, stop!” he shouted at her back, but she did not listen.

“Stop, please,” said Dean, sprinting now. She was important, he knew, though how he knew was a mystery.

Dean chased the girl for a block, two blocks, five blocks of identical buildings. They passed Main Street and three more blocks of identical buildings. When they got to Main Street for the second time Dean stopped, looking around in confusion. How had they ended up here? They had taken no turnings, had they?

He turned around to look back the way they had come and saw Main Street off in the distance. The same Main Street that he was standing on the corner of. He squinted, looking at a figure in a long black dress stood on the corner of the other Main Street. Before her was a man in jeans and a plaid shirt. He raised an arm in the air, and in the distance the man in plaid raised the same arm. Dean swore and turned back around.

The girl was stood directly in front of him, close enough to reach out and touch him. Her white hair blew in the breeze, though Dean could feel no wind. They looked at each other, and for a moment Dean thought she looked as confused as him.

The girl opened her mouth and emitted a high, inhuman screech. The world dissolved around Dean until there was nothing left but darkness.


	3. Moonage Daydream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moonage Daydream (David Bowie) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEde35UbwUI

“Dean? Dean!”

Dean woke suddenly, looking around in shock and fear before his senses took over and he realised that he was in his bedroom. The echoes of a very strange dream were just beginning to fade from his memory, and for a moment all he could hear was a high screeching. The image of a white-haired woman was seared into his vision. He shook his head as if to clear it.

“Dean, where are you?”

“In the bedroom, chill out,” replied Dean. Groggily he got out of bed and shrugged on his robe.

The room looked normal, though it was dark. It was the dark that came right in the deep, quiet part of the night long after everyone was asleep and long before even the birds awoke. He flicked on the light, rubbing sleepy eyes with his other hand.

Cas charged into the room. He was fully dressed and wearing a trenchcoat that, even though he could not remember seeing it before, seemed very familiar to Dean. He looked both worried and serious.

“What’s all the yelling for?” Dean said, his frown reflecting Cas’.

“Dean, are you alright?” asked Cas, stepping close to him and inspecting him, as if anticipating injuries.

“I’m fine, what’s the matter with you? Why are you dressed?”

“I don’t know how much time I have, you need to listen to me,” replied Cas, ignoring the question. He gripped Dean’s arm firmly, as if doing so would anchor them together.

“This isn’t real. It’s- It’s like a fever dream. There’s a monster out there called an Afrit. It’s similar to a Djinn, or a genie. It’s trying to create a fantasy world for you so that it can feed from you while you sleep.” Cas looked steadily at Dean, his face utterly serious.

“If this is a dream, that makes you a dream,” said Dean slowly. “And if you’re part of the dream, why would you tell me that I was dreaming? Surely the monster wouldn’t want me to know.”

Cas made an urgent, frustrated kind of noise. His fingers were white where they clutched tightly at Dean’s arm.

“Sam and I have weakened it, but we can’t find you. We’re using a powerful spell to project me into your mind right now, while the monster is sleeping, but it will come back soon. You have to wake up, Dean. If you stay asleep too long you’ll be trapped here forever.”

“Right, sure, fine... And how do I wake up?”

“To wake up you have to kill the Afrit, stab it through the heart or the head, just make sure it dies. I can’t do it for you, it has to be you. You have to kill it, Dean.”

Dean stared blankly at Cas for a moment, processing, then broke into a wide grin.

“Oh, well done! You nearly had me there. You should be on stage; that was one hell of a performance. Did Sam put you up to this?” 

“No, Dean, I’m not joking,” said Cas seriously. 

“Do you really expect me to believe, not only that monsters exist, but that all of this is a dream? Give it up, Cas. You’ve been rumbled. It was a good joke, and A+ for commitment, but let’s just go back to sleep, okay?”

Dean put a hand on Cas’ and gently took it off his arm, patted it, then took off his robe again and placed it on the back of the door. He sat on the edge of the bed and yawned.

Cas watched him, partly bewildered by Dean’s manner and equally frustrated with his refusal to believe. At a loss for anything else to do he sat down beside Dean. He wondered how long he had before the spell ran out, and what he would do when it did.

“Your tie’s backwards,” said Dean with a faint smile. He leaned over to put it straight for Cas and then, seeing as he was there anyway, kissed him softly. Cas blinked at him.

“I, uh…?” said the angel, stricken.

“What?” said Dean, stifling another yawn.

“You kissed me,” said Cas, not comprehending. It was like his brain had short circuited.

“Uh, yeah? Are you okay, Honey-Bee?”

Cas squinted in confusion, looking anywhere but at his friend. He hadn’t really paid attention to his surroundings in his urgency to find Dean, but now there were things he could not help but notice; the unmistakable signs of domesticity. The room was clearly occupied by two people, and it wasn’t hard to guess which two. He could see a pair of novelty His & His towels on a rail in the en-suite, and the walls were adorned with photographs, one of which depicted he and Dean in matching tuxedos.

“Your fantasy is to… marry me?” Cas muttered, speaking more to himself than to Dean.

“Is this some weird roleplay thing?” asked Dean. “Because if it is I guess I could get on board. What do you want me to do? Should I dress up?”

“I wasn’t...You… We...” stuttered Cas.

“I mean it hardly seems worth dressing up since I’ve only got my boxers on anyway…” Dean mused. “Or is that what the trench is for? Is it your turn to dress up? I’ve gotta admit I do kinda like it…” he added, laying a hand on Cas’ leg under the - blatantly false - pretence of examining the coat. He grinned.

Cas froze like a rabbit in headlights. He had absolutely no idea how to behave in a situation like this, especially as it was Dean... His mind was still reeling from the revelation of Dean’s fantasy and he was finding it hard to think rationally. 

Dean reached out and grabbed Cas’ lapels. He used them to pull him close and then kissed him, softly at first but quickly deepening. They fell backwards, Dean pushing Cas onto the bed and pressing his body into him. His eyes were closed and he relied on his other senses, the touch and warmth of his lover's skin, to let him know he was there. He kissed deeply and passionately, as if for the very first time.

“Dean,” Cas said, voice husky and uncertain. “Dean this isn’t what I came here for. This isn’t real. Eventually the monster will get bored of you. This dream will disappear and you will be left in blackness until you die. I can’t let that happen. You need to kill the Afrit.”

Dean frowned, looking down at Cas. His deep blue gaze was steady, imploring him to believe. Dean sat back, running a hand over his stubbly chin and up over his tired face, then sighed.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said. 

Cas nodded.

“Okay,” said Dean. “It sounds nuts, but I guess there’s no harm in checking it out. Uh, what does an Afrit look like?”

“Um,” said Cas. He breathing was a little erratic as he sat up, straightening his clothes and avoiding Dean’s eye. 

“Um, they look similar to djinn, as far as we can make out. Like people, any gender. But Afrits have pale skin and white hair.”

A vision flashed in Dean’s mind, just for a second, of a pale girl in a rear view mirror with weightless white hair. He tried to grasp at the memory but it was already gone.

“They also have markings, blue markings that look like tattoos and extend up their bodies,” added Cas.

Another image came to Dean - he and Sam stood behind an Impala, his Impala, watching a woman with blue tattoos walk by. This time it was replaced with another, slightly foggier image - the same woman staring him down outside. Then another, the same woman walking away from him down cookie-cutter streets. The same woman screeching at him. Each was too fleeting to examine, but Dean felt in his gut that there was something strange going on. Perhaps Cas was telling the truth.

“I’ve seen her,” said Dean. “I don’t remember much but I know I’ve seen her. She’s been floating around, watching me.”

“That’s good - I think,” said Cas. He stood up and shook his shoulders, setting his coat straight. His tie was somehow backwards again. “You’re not supposed to be able to see Afrits while you’re asleep, so if you’ve seen it you must be resisting it. It must be struggling to get your fantasy right and it wants to, I don’t know, observe you...”

Dean nodded his understanding. He got up and started pulling clothes out of the closet at random, his back to Cas. There was a long silence then, an empty kind of silence, and when Dean turned back around the angel was gone.

“Cas?” Dean said. 

There was no reply. Feeling very much alone he got dressed in jeans and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. He chose steel-toe-cap boots, then went into the kitchen and slotted a knife into one of them, just in case. He took a meat cleaver from the drawer and hefted it in one hand, then did a few experimental slices in the air. 

To his surprise the motion felt natural to him and the weight of the weapon was familiar in his hand. He found he knew how to jab and slice and cut with it quite well, and he realised that he was fighting his imaginary opponent from a pretty good fighting stance; he stood on the balls of his feet, light and quick, his balance centred. 

Dean paused then for a moment, contemplative. If this was all a dream, who was he in real life? Was Sam not his brother, Cas not his partner? How did he know how to fight like this? What kind of life did he lead that a monster had attacked him? For that matter, what kind of world did he live in that monsters existed? Even if this wasn’t real, was he sure he wanted to live in that other world? Could he not choose instead to sleep forever in this peaceful bubble where he was married to the love of his life?

No, Cas had said the Afrit would get bored of him and that he would die. Maybe he would get to live a nice life until then, but how long would it take? Would he get to live until he was old or would this only last another day? Was it worth the risk whilst his loved ones were back in the real world, in danger?

Dean let the worry disappear from his mind. He knew had to kill the Afrit. He tightened his grip on the cleaver and marched down the hallway towards the front door. He paused for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, then wrenched it open.


	4. Goodbye Blue Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye Blue Sky (Pink Floyd) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8JJfvx-gJU

Harsh sunlight blinded Dean as the door opened and he raised an arm in front of his face to protect his eyes. Even with them squeezed shut coloured spots danced in front of his vision. He blinked a few times and looked behind him into the dark hallway, at the end of which was a window looking out into darkest night. Carefully he looked out of the front door.

The building that he remembered was gone and instead Dean stood in a field. The second he let go of the door handle his apartment disappeared and he was left stranded. He looked around in disbelief.

A tall figure was striding towards him through the long grass. He was sure it hadn’t been there a moment ago. He squinted, trying to make out who it was.

“Sam? Sam, hey, Sam!” Dean called, waving to him. He started to walk towards his brother and they met in the middle, amongst the weeds.

“Hello, Dean,” said Sam. There was something off about him. Dean stopped dead, eyeing him warily.

“What, you don’t trust your own brother?” said Sam. His voice was different and his expression arrogant. He wore a white suit, and Dean felt a flicker of fear at the sight of it.

“You’re not Sam,” said Dean, a fragment of his real life returning to him. Suddenly he recognised the field as the place where Lucifer and Michael had had their showdown, where Sam had gone to Hell and Cas had died for them. He took half a step back.

“Maybe,” said Sam. “Maybe not. Do you really want to find out? Close your eyes and go back to the life you dream of.”

Dean felt a wave of tiredness wash over him and his eyelids started to droop.

“No!” he said, shaking his head. He brandished his cleaver at the monster. “You’re the Afrit. You need to go.”

“Now Dean, is that really necessary?” said the Afrit. It waved a hand and the cleaver disappeared. Dean looked down at his empty hand in shock.

“You’re in my world, Dean. I control everything. Why fight me? Go to sleep. Be happy.”

“I’ll be happy when you’re dead,” replied Dean, making a sudden lunge at the monster. It danced away, using Sam’s voice to laugh mockingly at him.

“You want your old life back so badly? Are you sure?” said the Afrit, smiling sweetly.

It waved a hand and Dean lost sight of the field; instead he stood watching as his child self ran from a burning building, baby brother in his arms. The sound of a woman’s screaming could be heard above the flames and suddenly he remembered. He gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, defying tears.

When he opened his eyes he saw himself, maybe eight years old, and little Sammy. They were alone in a shabby motel room at night. Dean was at the stove, cooking mac & cheese for his little brother. Sam was crying, asking where Daddy was, and Dean had no good answer. Again tears threatened in Dean’s own eyes and he wiped them angrily.

When he opened his eyes again he saw his younger self arguing with his brother. Sam’s bags were packed and he held an acceptance letter to Stanford University in one hand. Sam left, the door slamming with a bang like a gunshot, and Dean could hear his father begin to shout outside. He remembered this, too, though he wished he didn’t.

Suddenly the room was gone and this time Dean saw Azazel, who was replaced by Lucifer, who was replaced by Lilith, who was replaced by Dick Roman, who was replaced by Cain. Cas died, Sam died, Bobby died, Kevin, Charlie, Jo, Ash, Ellen, Rufus... even Gabriel made an appearance. He saw hell, he saw the apocalypse, he saw purgatory. A slideshow of the worst moments of Dean’s life played out before him and he could not stop it.

By the time the field reappeared Dean could not help the tears that ran silently down his face. He remembered it all now, everything that he and his extended family had been through. It had been far from the nice, apple pie life he had lived for the past few days.

The Afrit stood a few feet away, watching him closely. It smiled triumphantly, shrinking back into its pale self and stepping close to Dean. It put a hand on his back and rubbed in comforting circles, letting him cry.

“Sleep, precious boy. Live the life you deserve,” it whispered gently. 

Dean could smell its sweet breath on his face. It was nice to be held so warmly, so comfortingly. His eyelids began to droop and this time he almost gave in, but the memories, though bitter, gave him strength. He and his family had been through so much and if he were to die here it would have all been for nothing. He couldn’t leave his brother behind like this. And Cas…

In this dream world it wasn’t hard for Dean to admit to himself that he loved Cas. He had never done it before, but the idea was softer here, like the world not being real made his feelings less scary. It made sense, after all. Cas had sacrificed so much for him, how could he help but to love him in return? And if in the real world it remained unrequited, well, he could live with that if only he got to be around the angel, the real angel, again.

Dean moved quickly. He spun around and grabbed the Afrit by the neck, choking the air from it. It screeched and struggled and almost broke away, but Dean had already grabbed the knife from his boot. He plunged it into the monster’s chest, slid it neatly between the ribs and into its blackened heart.

“Sleep tight,” said Dean, teeth gritted as he tore the knife through the monster’s torso. Its blood was deep blue and spilled out over his hand and onto the grass.

The Afrit let out an awful scream, high pitched and anguished. It was so loud that Dean was forced to drop the knife and clap his hands to his ears, and even that was not enough. The noise made the ground tremble and quake, like someone had picked up the world and shook it like a magic 8-ball. Dean tumbled to the grass, still trying to protect his ears as the world shattered beneath him. His own scream was drowned out as he fell into the void.


	5. Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wake Up (Graham Parker & The Shot) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxGdQNh4YWY

Dean woke slowly this time, everything swimming in and out of focus. He could see a dark figure standing above him and he wasn’t sure if it was friendly or not - he tried to raise an arm to fend it off but his body would not respond. He panicked, trying to sit up, but it was like trying to swim through quicksand.

“Dean, calm down, it’s me.”

The voice drifted and floated, and Dean had to concentrate to make out the words. He stopped struggling, squinting up at the figure.

“C-Cas? That you?” he said weakly, slurring a little.

“No, it’s me, it’s Sam. How do you feel?” said his brother, peering anxiously down at him.

“Foggy. Like… Like I’ve been roofied,” replied Dean. He spoke slowly and deliberately, forcing his lips to form each word. His head was filled with cotton wool, his mouth so dry his tongue felt like sandpaper. 

“What… What happened?” he asked. His vision was clearer now but it didn’t help much - he could see that they were in an abandoned house, overgrown and filthy, but he did not recognise it. He tried again to sit up but could only get as far as raising his head.

“Here,” said Sam, sliding an arm around him. He grunted softly, as Dean was mostly dead weight, but managed to get him into a sitting position, leaning him against a mossy wall.

“It was an Afrit,” said Sam. “We were hunting it, chased it right across Arizona. Don’t you remember?”

Dean thought about it. His mind was a swirling mess of memories. He had fleeting visions of motel rooms and dead bodies, dreamlike images of Sam, Jess, and a closet full of beige slacks, but mostly he remembered a pale girl with white hair and blue tattoos. None of it made any kind of sense to him. 

“I dunno,” said Dean. “Sort of. It’s all blurry.”

His speech was clearer now, his head equally so. He lifted an arm and this time it was like swimming through custard - still difficult, but less so than before. He took a closer look at his surroundings but the cracked tiles of the old kitchen told him nothing. Outside was dark and quiet.

“Where’s Cas?” he asked.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, which told Dean instantly that something was up. He maneuvered his face into what he hoped was a stern, take-no-crap kind of expression.

“Where’s Cas, Sam?”

“He… He said he had to go,” said Sam, picking his words with care. “He said the spell we did made him feel… strange, and, and he had to go and clear his head.”

“What spell?” asked Dean, brow furrowed. He felt like he had spoken to Cas recently but could remember nothing.

“Afrits have this weird ability to block tracking spells and GPS, meaning we couldn’t find you until you severed its connection to you. The only thing we could do was project one of us into your head to get you to kill it and wake up. Cas volunteered,” explained Sam. He avoided Dean’s eye as he spoke.

“Cut the crap, Sam. What aren’t you telling me?” said Dean, a note of demand in his voice. Sam sighed.

“Look, Dean, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but the dude spent five minutes inside your head and when he came back he was acting all weird. He said he should never have done the spell, and that was it - he didn’t say another word until we found you, then he took off. I don’t know where, but he said not to go after him, especially not you. So how about you cut the crap and tell me what happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” said Dean, a little taken aback. What could Cas possibly have seen inside his head?

“Well,” said Sam, “whatever went down, we should get back to the bunker. There are more Afrits around and they’re harder to kill than we thought. Do you think you can stand?”

“I’ve been in worse shape than this, Sam. Go get Baby warmed up and I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Sam hesitated, but something about the look on Dean’s face made him do as he was bid. He disappeared with a nod and Dean waited until he heard the engine roar to life before he pushed himself onto his feet.

He swayed and took an involuntary step forward, his muscles screaming at him, but managed to keep his balance by gripping the table he had just vacated. His strength was returning to him, if slowly, he just wished that his memory would. He closed his eyes.

“Cas,” he said softly. “Cas, I can’t remember my dream. I don’t know what happened. The one thing I do know is- is that I need you, buddy. We’re a team. Don’t disappear over something I can’t even remember, okay? If I upset you, I’m sorry. I need you here. Please.”

He kept his eyes shut for a moment longer, half afraid to open them in case Cas was standing there - or worse, in case the room was empty. When he finally opened them he looked around hopefully, but there was no-one there. His heart heavy, he made his way out to the Impala, and he and Sam took off into the night.

Cas watched them go from the window, only becoming visible once the hum of the engine had faded away. He had an unfathomable look on his face, and did not move for a long time.


	6. Here With Me

Sam and Dean spent the better part of two days making their way home, Sam insisting on driving and Dean growing increasingly frustrated with his brother's mollycoddling. The absence of Cas played on both their minds, though Sam could tell it was weighing heavier on Dean, as the elder Winchester was becoming more and more withdrawn. By the time they arrived in Kansas the only time Dean spoke was to grumpily complain about Sam’s driving, or the nauseating gas station food they had bought. At the bunker he went straight to his room and did not reappear that day.

The next day Sam did not see Dean at all. At first he was pleased to have a little time to himself, and managed to read almost an entire book, but by dinnertime Sam’s pleasure had turned to concern. Dean had not eaten and had only emerged from his room to go to the bathroom. 

Sam walked along the corridor towards his brother’s bedroom, thick socks muffling his footsteps on the tiled floor, determined to drag Dean out for something to eat. He knew it would be no easy task if Dean was in as foul a mood as he expected, but he had a duty of care to his big brother. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath to prepare himself, then pushed the door gently open.

Dean was knelt by the side of his bed, hands clasped firmly in front of him. Sam had only seen people in movies pray like that, but Dean had it down pat. He had his eyes squeezed shut and his lips were moving as he muttered incoherently. Sam was sure he heard Cas’ name in there somewhere, but Dean’s prayers were too low for him to hear.

For a moment Sam thought that maybe he should back away and leave his brother to it, but before he could turn around Dean opened his eyes. When he noticed Sam he scrambled to his feet, brushing down his dusty jeans.

“I guess I should, uh, sweep up in here, or something,” he muttered, avoiding Sam’s eye.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t hear anything,” said Sam, and Dean’s relief was evident. “Come on, we’re going for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” said Dean, flopping down on his bed. 

“You haven’t eaten all day,” replied Sam. “Dean, you haven’t even left your room all day. I know you miss Cas but come on dude, this is ridiculous.”

“This is my fault,” said Dean, miserably. “I upset him and now he’s out there alone.”

“He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself,” said Sam. “And you need to stop beating yourself up. I mean, you don’t even remember what happened!”

Dean made a noncommittal sort of noise and avoided Sam’s eye.

“You don’t remember what happened, do you?” said Sam, though he knew his brother well enough to guess at the answer.

“Look, I remember pieces, but I don’t feel like sharing. Bring me back a bacon cheeseburger if you have to but just leave me alone, Sam.”

Dean lay back on his bed, shoving a pair of headphones over his ears, which effectively ended the conversation. Sam stood there watching for a moment, debating whether or not to push the issue, when he heard footsteps. There was only one person who could have gotten into the bunker…

“About friggin time, Cas,” said Sam, coming out into the hallway. The angel stood opposite him, looking the same as ever in his trench and blue tie. His dark hair was mussed and his cheeks bore scruffy bristles. 

“I’m sorry for taking off-” began Cas. Sam raised a hand to stop him, then enveloped him in a quick hug.

“I don’t care, I’m just glad you’re back. It’s Dean you need to speak to, he’s been sulking for days,” he said. “Good luck,” he added, patting Cas on the shoulder before walking away.

Cas stood by Dean’s door for five whole minutes before he gathered himself enough to go inside. Dean was laid to one side of his bed, eyes closed. He had headphones on and the bassline of his music was just audible in the silence. Cas swallowed and took a few steps closer.

Dean didn’t notice him. His hands rested on his stomach and one finger tapped to the beat. His cupid’s bow lips silently formed the lyrics of the song, and Cas was immensely proud of himself for recognising it as REO Speedwagon. Dean looked content, and Cas found himself watching until the song finished and the hunter opened his eyes.

Dean’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish for a second before he tore off his headphones and sat up straight.

“Cas?” he said, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“No, not at the moment,” replied the angel, glued to the spot. “I heard your prayers.”

“I didn’t think you were listening. I mean, I hoped, but…”

“We need to talk, Dean.”

“Yeah, listen, before you start-” began Dean, but he stopped abruptly when Cas sat down on the bed, facing him. He sat close, so that his knee just barely kissed Dean’s, and looked intently at him.

“I’m an angel, Dean,” Cas said plainly. “I was built as a soldier. I don’t know how to do any of this - hunting, being a team, friendship… Angels aren’t supposed to have feelings.” He paused, frowning as he considered his words.

“Cas, stop thinking so hard about this, you’re gonna give yourself a headache,” said Dean, trying out a small smile. “Look, I wanted to tell you that my dream, that apple-pie life with the corporate job and the golf on Sundays - it’s just a dream. Everyone has things that they think about from time to time, things they think might be nice, but I ain’t gonna leave hunting behind. This life - it’s all I know, it’s all I’m good at.”

Dean took a breath and looked guiltily at Cas for a moment.

“Look, I know you weren’t in my dream and that must have hurt your feelings. It would have hurt mine too. But I promise you, you’re not getting rid of me that easily, okay buddy? It was just a dream. You’re my best friend, my brother, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean’s smile broadened and he gave Cas a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Cas stared blankly at him.

“What do you mean I wasn’t in your dream?” he said slowly.

“Well, I guess technically you were in my dream when you did the spell,” said Dean, “but I meant how my ‘fantasy’ didn’t include you. But we don’t have to dwell on it. I’m sorry. We good?”

“What do you remember, Dean?” asked Cas, head tilting in confusion.

“Not everything,” admitted the hunter. “At first I didn’t remember anything, but as the afrit-roofie wore off little bits started coming back to me. I remember driving a Cadillac - can you believe that? A Cadillac! And Jess was still alive, and married to Sam. We went to play golf, or had played golf - I remember something about golf, anyway. And pancakes.Then you showed up and gave me the low down. It’s all a little blurry but that’s the basic idea.”

“So you don’t remember a… a partner? Being married?”

“Oh, you know me,” said Dean, with a casual shrug. “I don’t get attached. Not even in my dreams.”

“I see,” said Cas, his face carefully blank. There was a tinge of something that could have been disappointment in his voice. He cleared his throat and sat back a little, shifting himself away from Dean. 

“So, are we good? I don’t know how many more times I can say I’m sorry. Besides, the afrit got some stuff wrong anyway. I mean, can you see me in a Cadillac? It just got the bit about you wrong as well,”said Dean. He smiled uncertainly at Cas.

Cas hesitated, then returned the smile and nodded.

“We’re good. I think I over-reacted. You’re right, the afrit probably got it wrong anyway,” he said. 

Dean beamed and leaned forward to wrap Cas in a tight hug. The angel reciprocated and they sat there together in each other’s arms for a very long moment. Then Dean slapped him on the back and pulled away.

“Hey, Cas, could you, uh… Could you maybe not tell Sam about my dream? If he even suspects I might be interested in… in normalcy, he’ll never let up about it.”

“Sure, but Dean-”

“Thanks buddy. Now, I know you don’t really eat, but I’m starving. Wanna go get some dinner? There’s this Italian joint that does a steak the size of your head…”


	7. Angel

The next morning was spent in relative silence, the three concentrating on research, as they knew they had left behind more monsters in Arizona. Afrits were a rare breed and even the Men of Letters had little to say on the subject. By lunch time they had read countless files and books and had found nothing, which only made Dean restless.

“Remind me again why Cas can’t just zap in there and take out the whole lot of them?” said Dean, closing yet another book and throwing it on the pile. Sam winced at the loud noise then sighed, lowering his own book.

“A - because we don’t know where they are, B - because we don’t know how many there are, and C - for all we know, they might be more powerful than Cas,” said Sam, for the third time.

“I killed one in my sleep!” said Dean.

“You didn’t kill it,” said Cas from the doorway. He carried a plate in each hand, both of which bore rather lop-sided BLTs. He placed one each in front of Sam and Dean, then resumed his place in the armchair. Dean grabbed his sandwich immediately, whereas Sam muttered his thanks but left it alone.

“What do you mean I didn't I kill it?” said Dean, mouth full.”I stabbed it through the heart!”

“Yes, inside your dream,” replied Cas. “You simply expelled that afrit’s presence from your mind and sent it back to its body. You didn’t know that?”

“No, Cas, I didn’t. Anything else you’ve been keeping to yourself?” said Dean.

“No..” said Cas. He glanced at Sam, then down and away. He tried to look nonchalant but it was more than enough to make Dean suspicious. Dean put down his sandwich and looked between the two of them expectantly.

“Listen, Dean, don’t fly off the handle, okay?” said Sam, raising a placating hand. He looked tired.

“Oh, I’m not gonna like this, I can tell,” said Dean, shaking his head. “What happened?”

“You remember the spell we had to do to find you?” said Cas slowly. “Well, it needed a sort of, what you might call a power source…”

“We tried to find something else, but we were kind of in a pinch,” said Sam.

Dean didn’t say anything, he simply waited, lips drawn in a thin line. Sam and Cas looked at each other nervously. There was tense silence.

“We extracted my Grace,” said Cas, eventually. “Not all of it!” he added hastily, as Dean rounded on him, “but enough to weaken me.”

“Will it… grow back?” said Dean, visibly restraining himself. His glare made Cas uncomfortable.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” said Dean, and now he was beginning to lose it. He stood up, towering over Cas where he sat in the armchair. “You could have gotten yourself killed!”

“Well, I didn’t get killed. And it worked. You should be thanking me!” replied Cas angrily. He stood up himself so that now he and Dean were mere inches apart.

“Thanking you? I’m not gonna thank you for being so stupid!” shouted Dean.”Who knows what that could have done to you, what it could still do to you? You don’t take those kinds of risks, Cas!”

“Oh, and I suppose you’ve never done anything risky, have you Dean?” said Cas, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve never used blood in a spell, or, y’know, faced down Satan himself, have you, Dean? Or is that somehow okay for you to do, but not for me?”

“No! It’s not okay for you to do! Not ever!” said Dean. He was breathing heavily.

“Why? What makes it different for me?” demanded Cas. He was close enough to Dean to count the freckles that dappled his cheeks.

“Because- Well, because I-” Dean stuttered. Cas’ eyes bored into him. He suddenly became aware of how close he was to the angel and his mind froze. He didn’t know what to say.

There was a small part of him that knew exactly what he wanted to say and was screaming it as loud as it could, but Dean was too used to pushing it away. Instead he broke eye contact and shuffled back on one foot, so that there was a little breathing room between them.

“I can’t have anyone else get hurt because of me,” he said eventually. He said it quietly, the fire having gone out of him. “Especially not you. I just can’t. So do me a favour and stop being reckless on my account. I’m not worth it.”

With that Dean left the room, pausing only to pick up what was left of his sandwich. Cas watched him go, face carefully impassive. He would have stood there a lot longer had Sam not coughed awkwardly.

“I told you he wouldn’t be happy about it,” said Sam gently.

“I had to do it, Sam.”

“I know. Are you alright?”

“Fine,” replied Cas. He tore his eyes away from the door and sat down beside Sam, taking Dean’s vacated seat. His voice sounded distant and he was clearly deep in thought.

Sam debated pushing the issue, but it seemed like Cas didn’t really want to talk. He was more than happy to sit in silence, so reached for the sandwich Cas had made. He took a large bite, chewed for a moment, then made a face and spat it back onto the plate.

“Ugh!” he said. “Cas, did you- Did you put peanut butter in this?”

“Yes, why? Should I not have?” asked the angel, squinting in confusion.

Sam looked at him in disbelief, then shook his head and laughed.

“Dean ate it,” said Cas defensively.

“Yeah, he did… He either loves peanut butter BLTs, or…” replied Sam, letting the sentence trail into a suggestive silence.

“Or what?” asked Cas.

“Nothing,” sighed Sam. He went back to his book.


	8. Starman

Sam and Cas spent the afternoon in companionable silence, interspersed with a few comments here and there if one of them found something interesting. They saw hide nor hair of Dean, though Cas had contemplated seeking him out countless times. 

It was hard to tell the time in the perpetual twilight of the bunker, but Cas guessed it must have been about six before he heard a sneeze from down the hall. Fed up with research, he decided to investigate. His argument with Dean had been playing heavily on his mind and he wanted to make things right.

It wasn’t hard to find Dean, in the end. He lay on his back underneath the large telescope, and a steady stream of muttered curses led Cas straight to him. Tools were strewn across the floor, and one large piece of the telescope had been swung up to let Dean access the mechanism. There was a pile of yellowing diagrams and instructions next to him that looked suspiciously untouched.

“Hello, Dean,” said Cas.

Dean, as if in a cartoon, jumped up startled and hit his head on the part of the telescope that stuck out. He swore loudly and got up, rubbing a red mark on his head.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” said Cas.

Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes, though a small grin played across his lips. Cas smiled back. It was nice - and their argument, for the moment, seemed to be forgotten.

“What are you doing to the telescope, Dean?” asked Cas. He tilted his head slightly to look at it, squinting.

“Fixing it. Or trying to. I felt like doing something with my hands, but Baby’s in great shape, and I remembered you saying what a shame it was that this was broken…” Dean answered, shrugging. “I just needed to fix something. But the damn thing is so old and it doesn’t look like the diagrams I found,” he added, picking up one of the yellowing pieces of paper. He frowned at it, then handed it to Cas, who frowned at it too.

“This is a diagram for a microscope,” said the angel, eventually. “See, here, this bit points down,” he added, pointing it out to Dean. The hunter had to shuffle closer in order to see. Their shoulders brushed.

“Oh, yeah, right,” said Dean. “But see, this here looks exactly like this mechanism in here,” he added. He put a hand on Cas’ shoulder and steered him towards the telescope, where he pointed out a tangle of metal that would have confused a PhD. “I think this is where the problem is, I just can’t figure out how to get this bit out and fix it…”

Cas looked, and poked, and prodded, but in the end he had to admit that he hadn’t the foggiest idea how to fix a hundred year old telescope. It wasn’t like they covered that kind of thing in Heaven, he said, and Dean laughed. 

Still, he could help. He passed tools to Dean, and helped find the parts of the diagrams that were similar, so that they weren’t working blind. They talked and joked together for an hour, maybe two - neither was keeping track. Cas sat cross-legged on the floor beside Dean, watching closely everything he did, drinking in the crinkles around his eyes at every smile, relishing the sound of his laugh. There was nobody’s company he enjoyed better than Dean’s, but it was something special when they got to just be together and talk and joke, without the threat of death looming over them. It had been too long since they had done anything like this. It was good to see Dean smile.

“I think that’s it,” said Dean, pulling Cas from his thoughts.

Dean groaned as he stood up and stretched his back where it was stiff from laying on the floor. His plain black tee clung to his shoulder muscles, Cas noticed, and rode up as he stretched to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. Cas said nothing.

“Well, come on, let’s see if it worked,” said Dean, closing the side of the telescope. “Now, I think we have to move it round like this,” he said, and pushed it. It shifted and groaned, and Dean grunted as he put all his strength into pushing. It was a large telescope, and made of heavy materials, and had not been moved in decades. It refused to go any further.

“Let me help,” said Cas. He stepped forwards and placed his hands on the telescope. His fingers brushed Dean’s as he adjusted his grip, and then with one small push the whole apparatus spun by ninety degrees. Dean stood back, shaking his head.

“Sometimes I forget you’re not human,” he said quietly.

Cas wasn’t sure whether this was good or bad. He frowned.

“It depends how you classify it,” he said. “I have angel powers, yes, but I have human feelings, too.”

“You do? I mean, I know you’re not like the others, but… Human feelings, really?” said Dean.

“I think so,” nodded Cas. “I feel things more deeply than any angel I have ever spoken to. I defied my ‘programming’, defied Heaven, because of my feelings for you - that is not something an angel has ever done. But humans do that sort of thing all the time. So, yes, I think I have human feelings,” he said. His tone was casual, as if this was not a revelation to him like it was to Dean.

Dean stood in silence for a moment, still processing and unable to come up with a decent response. Instead of trying he, as usual, elected to ignore it and turned to the telescope instead.

“Do you wanna take the first look?” he said, gesturing for Cas to step forwards. He turned off the lights, then pulled the lever that opened the panel in the roof, bathing the room in the soft glow of moonlight. It was a clear night and they could just see the twinkle of stars in the sky through the little hole.

Cas stepped forward and bent to look through the eyepiece.

“It’s blurry,” he said, rather disappointed. Had they done something wrong?

“Here,” said Dean, and suddenly he was at Cas’ side. He took a look himself, then began turning little brass knobs and spinning wheels with gears on the end. Cas watched him closely, marveling at his ingenuity, until he was done and gestured for Cas to have another look.

This time when Cas looked through the eyepiece he gasped. The night sky was in front of him like he had never seen. The sky looked different in Heaven, and on Earth he had never had the opportunity to use a telescope, but now… 

“It’s amazing!” he said. “I recognise these stars… This constellation, the ancient Greeks called it Andromeda, is it still called that?”

“I have no idea,” said Dean. He was smiling, glad that Cas seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Look, you can see the star here, its name escapes me, but it’s part of Andromeda and Pegasus, isn’t that wonderful?” enthused Cas.

“Sure,” said Dean.

“You should look, Dean,” said Cas, and he grabbed Dean’s wrist, pulling him down to his level.

Dean was startled, but let himself be manhandled towards the telescope, and looked where he was prompted.

“They… Well, they’re definitely stars, Cas,” said Dean, with a little shrug. He didn’t seem to be concentrating on the stars. 

Dean’s face was an inch from his own and Cas was suddenly very aware of the fact. The moonlight suited him; his green eyes were dusky and deep. They looked at each other.

“Cas,” Dean said softly, “about these human feelings… You, uh, you don’t, uh…”

“Don’t what, Dean?” asked Cas.

“No, nothing, never mind,” said Dean, straightening up. He cleared his throat loudly.

“Well, I’m glad we got this fixed, I guess I’ll leave you to it,” said Dean, and pulled back the curtain, letting yellow light flood into the observatory. Cas closed his eyes against the sudden brightness, and when he opened them again Dean was gone.


	9. Sweet Dreams

Dean went back to his room and drank a six-pack of beer whilst binge watching The Walking Dead. The gore and violence were nothing to him but he twitched a little when one of the characters kissed his boyfriend. The hunter’s thoughts spiralled and it was only when the episode finished that he realised he hadn’t taken in anything that had happened. He shut off the TV and picked up a book instead, hoping to lose himself in the words.

At some point he must have fallen asleep because a few hours later he was jolted awake by the TV bursting into static. The light was blinding in the dark and the fuzzy noise deafening. Clumsily he reached for the remote and jabbed at the off button. Nothing happened.

Dean sat up a little, squinting at the TV. He pointed the remote directly at it and hit the off button again. Nada. He grunted and took off the battery cover, rolled the batteries around a bit, then tried again. Again the machine ignored him. He grunted more loudly and forced himself out of bed.

He crossed to the TV and pressed the off switch on the side. He had already turned to start getting into bed before he realised that the thing had refused him yet again. Angrily he went back and this time he yanked the power cable out of the wall socket. The snowy screen continued to crackle.

Immediately Dean was wide awake. He grabbed a salt-filled shotgun from the shelf beside his bed and leveled it at the screen. For a moment nothing happened, then over the noise of the TV he heard a distant wail, a shriek like a banshee. It increased in volume until it completely drowned out the fuzz of the TV and Dean had to drop the gun to cover his ears. 

The noise continued to get louder and louder until Dean, face screwed up in pain, thought his eardrums would burst. Then, abruptly, it stopped. Dean looked around wildly, grabbing at his gun, but there was nothing to be seen.

“Over here, Dean,” said a soft voice.

The hunter spun around, searching his room for the source of the voice. It took him a moment to realise that it was coming from the television. In the centre of the screen, in front of the now silent static, was the white-haired girl from his dream. The afrit.

“What do you want?” he said gruffly. 

“So hostile,” she tutted.

“Bite me,” said Dean.

“Manners don’t cost anything, Dean,” the afrit chided. “But fine. I’ll get straight to the point. You’re going to come to me and let me have my way with you.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because there’s a part of me inside you. I can manipulate your dreams, make you question reality. I can make your life a living nightmare.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve dealt with worse than you before. You don’t scare me,” said Dean. He opened the shotgun to check it was full, then slammed it closed, leveling it at the TV.

The afrit’s vague smile warped into an angry snarl.

“Fine,” she said. “If you don’t come to me, your angel friend will die.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“It’s all very technical and complicated, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. But the long and short of it is this - I have Castiel’s Grace, or at least the part of it that matters. Without it he will die. But I will return it when you give yourself to me.”

Dean went pale, then his face twisted with anger and he squeezed the trigger of his shotgun.

At the sound of the shot Dean awoke, for real this time, and he could still hear it ringing in his ears as he sat up and stared at the television. The screen was off, blank and quiet. He breathed a sigh of relief and sank back into his pillows.

His mind was in overdrive. Was she telling the truth? Could Castiel really die without the fragment of his Grace? He seemed fine, but then it was always hard to tell with Cas… Sam said they had done a spell to project Cas into his mind, using his Grace as a power source. How had the afrit gotten a hold of it? Shouldn’t it have been used up?

For that matter, how the hell did she get back inside his head? What had she meant about there being a piece of her inside him? If she was telling the truth, how could he get her out? Djinn were rare and hard to find, afrits were doubly so and more powerful to boot. How could he find out more without alarming Cas and his brother?

These questions and many more made Dean’s head spin, until eventually he fell into a fitful sleep. He dreamed of white hair, trenchcoats and death.

-

“You look tired,” said Sam as his brother padded into the kitchen. Dean was wearing an open robe over yesterday’s t-shirt and boxers, and rubbed sleep from his eyes with one hand as he poured cereal into a bowl with the other.

“Didn’t get much sleep,” replied Dean in a sleepy mumble.

“Oh?” said Sam, raising an eyebrow. “Do I wanna know why not?”

“Get your mind outta the gutter, Sammy,” said Dean, taking a seat opposite his brother. “I was doing research, that’s all.”

“Sure you were,” said Sam. Dean rolled his eyes at him and they ate in silence.

A few minutes passed before they heard the sound of Castiel padding down the hall. He almost bumped into the doorframe as he entered, engrossed as he was in a book.

“Listen to this,” he said, sitting beside Dean.

“Afrits are classed as Infernal Djinn,” he read. “They can appear in many forms, but their true forms are large creatures of fire. They form close bonds with each other and live in secluded tribes. They can live for hundreds of years, only coming into contact with humans once every decade or so, in order to source sustenance.They usually reside underground, in caves or ruins, and prefer hot and arid climates.”

Cas shuffled closer to Dean, practically pushing the book into his face.

“One of the Men of Letters wrote this in his journal. And here, next to the description of afrits, are a set of co-ordinates with a question mark. I checked on the map and they lead to a place in Arizona.”

“Arizona?” said Sam. “That can’t be a coincidence…”

“Well boys, looks like we’ve got a lead. Suit up, we leave in an hour,” said Dean. He got up and practically sprinted to his room, leaving his cereal unfinished on the table. Sam and Cas raised their eyebrows at each other, but quickly followed suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience and feedback so far with this story. I have much more written which I will try to post more regularly in future, I'm just afraid of writing myself into a plothole I can't get out of once its posted! I will try and be speedier :)


	10. Thunder Road

It took them just less than two hours to finally get on the road. Most of this time had involved an argument debating on whether someone should stay behind as mission control and which of them it should be. Dean point blank refused to stay, and told Cas that he was damaged and should stay behind. That was a poor move, as Cas was determined to prove that he was perfectly fine and could more than handle the trip, with or without the sliver of Grace he had sacrificed to the spell. 

Sam had tried to say his piece and been more or less ignored. He rolled his eyes, silently wishing he could just lock them in a room together until they worked out… whatever it was that was going on between them. Eventually he picked up his duffel and went back inside, leaving them alone. 

It was another half hour before they noticed he had gone. They glared at each other and got inside the car, and didn’t speak to each other for the first hour of the journey.

In the second hour Dean said ‘We need gas,” before pulling off the highway to refuel. 

By the third hour Cas was going crazy. He knew Dean hated when he ‘zapped ahead’, and so didn’t suggest it, but the silence was getting to him. He sighed and saw Dean glance at him, but he said nothing. He sighed again, this time louder, and he saw Dean’s face twitch. The third time he sighed Dean slammed his hand on the steering wheel and turned to face him.

“What?!” he said.

“Can we talk, Dean?” asked Cas.

“I’m driving,” said Dean. 

“Dean,” said Cas.

Dean continued driving for a moment. The barren grassland surrounding them was empty for miles around. There were no other cars on the road. Overhead, the sky was dark and brooding, greys and purples and rain and thunder bearing down on them. 

Dean stopped the car, pulling off the highway into an adjacent field. The tyres tore up the turf, but he didn’t seem to care. He cut the engine and got out, slamming the car door behind him. The sound echoed around the empty landscape, scaring a single crow into flight. Cas got out and walked around the car to stand beside him.

“Dean,” said Cas softly. The other man turned to face him. 

“Dean, I don’t understand what’s going on with you. Sometimes it seems, well, it seems like you hate me. Like the last place on Earth you want to be is with me. And then sometimes…” he trailed off.

“Sometimes what?” said Dean.

“Sometimes you don’t,” said Cas simply.

“Look, Cas, I...” began Dean. He hesitated, looking away. “I don’t hate you, you gotta know that, right? Everything we’ve been through, there’s no way I could ever hate you. I just, I don’t like people taking risks for me. It’s the same with Sam, or anyone else that’s been hurt ‘cause of me. I can’t stand it. I guess that makes me a jerk sometimes.”

Cas took a few steps closer. His coat flapped around his knees in the cold wind, but if he noticed he didn’t show it. His face was impassive, his eyes fixed on Dean’s.

“Dean,” he said. “It’s not the being a jerk sometimes that bothers me. It’s the other sometimes.”

“I… Uh… What?” said Dean.

Cas was stood close, invading his personal space as usual, but there was a note of tension in the air that felt new. The angel was staring at him, looking deep into his eyes the way only he could, and it made him shift uncomfortably. He didn’t know what to say. He, Dean, who always had an answer for everything, even if it was a dumb one. He opened his mouth.

At that moment the heavens opened. Thunder echoed across the sky as torrential rain fell from it. They were drenched within seconds, Dean’s hair plastered to his scalp, Cas’ much the same. As one they turned and sprinted to the car, diving into the warm and dry.

They shared a smile and a chuckle, then Dean turned on the engine, flicked the heater to full blast and took off into the storm. The rest of that day’s journey passed without event, the two talking as normal about anything they felt like (with the exception of their conversation in the field, which somehow seemed to have been forgotten.)

Springer, New Mexico

The rain was torrential. More than torrential, it was practically biblical. It lashed down on the motel windows, rattling them in their frames. Wind blew at the door making it sound as though someone was trying to get in. The cold permeated everything, despite the large heater in the corner of the room.

Dean sat on the floor, huddled as close to the heater as he could get. He had also pulled the blankets from the bed and swaddled himself in them, though they were too thin to do much good. The TV displayed only static and there was no hope for the wifi, so he sat reading the journal that Cas had found in the bunker.

It had belonged to a man called Robert, a Legacy who had just completed his initiation and moved into the bunker. Robert was a smart man and had been given the task of tracking down a clan of afrits. The Men of Letters didn’t know a lot about the monsters, and every man that had gone after them had never returned. 

Robert attacked the task with vigour, and had even travelled to the middle east to consult with experts there, but the trail had gone cold. The experts told him that it could be up to ten years before the monsters took another victim, and so Robert shelved the project. 

The journal skipped ahead four years, and now Robert had moved up the ranks a little. He had been assigned a partner, George, and together they had completed over a hundred successful cases. Robert had grown close to George, and he wrote that most people now jokingly referred to him as his boyfriend. He wrote that it bothered him, and made him uncomfortable, but George himself didn’t mind all that much.

Dean was torn away from the journal at that point by the sound of mad hammering at the door. At first he thought it was just the weather, but it was too drawn out and rhythmical for that; he got to his feet and went to investigate. Glancing through the peephole Dean frowned, then unbolted and opened it. A sodden and shivering Castiel practically fell into his arms, wind and rain howling around him.

“Cas, what the hell?” said Dean, battling to support the angel and close the door at the same time. Somehow he managed it and half carried Cas into the room, carefully helping him onto the bed, where he lay panting for a moment before answering.

“I went to get food like you asked,” croaked Cas. His skin was unusually pale and clammy.

“Yeah, and then what? Were you attacked? What the hell happened out there man?” Dean’s eyes flickered over the drenched angel, checking for any sign of wounds. He saw none and his frown deepened.

“Well, the store was closed, so I ‘zapped’ to the next town over. When I tried to get back I got stopped about ten miles out. It was like there was a big...bubble, or something, around town, and I just slammed into it. So I started walking and every mile I tried again, and every time I got this awful pain, this searing headache like… like I don’t know what. So I just kept walking.”

“So what you’re saying is there’s like, I don’t know, an angel power blocker around town? Can you use any mojo at all?”

“No, Dean, I’m just sitting here dripping wet because I like the way it feels,” snapped Cas.

“I’m gonna give you a free pass on that one because you actually remembered the pie,” said Dean, spying the bag that Cas had dropped on his way in. He picked it up and started to rummage through it. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You don’t look hurt…”

Cas sat up, taking stock of himself. He sniffled a little. His hair dripped onto his nose.

“I’m not hurt, no. But I’m cold, and I have a headache, and I keep… Sneezing,” Cas replied, with obvious distaste.

“As long as you’re not dying, go take a hot shower,” Dean said, visibly relieved, “you’ll feel better. I’ve got some spare clothes in my bag you can have. We’ll figure this crap out after dinner.”

Cas hesitated, but did as he was told. He was loathe to admit it but the shower really did make him feel better. Normally he didn’t shower - as an angel he didn’t need to - but there was something about the warmth seeping into his bones that felt sublime. He lounged in the water and steam for a good while before finally shutting it off and wrapping a towel around his waist.

When he went into the other room he saw that Dean had put out a full set of clothes for him to wear. The man himself however was nowhere to be seen, so Cas started to pull on the clothes. He wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing, so wrapped up was he in trying to figure out what was going on with his powers. He was also inexplicably tired. Angels didn’t tire, and yet he felt his eyes drooping even as he pulled on the thick socks Dean had left him.

Just as he was wrestling the t-shirt over his head Dean returned from outside. He carried a bottle of whiskey in one hand and cheese in the other, both of which he almost dropped when he saw Cas standing before him, pants undone and torso exposed. He coughed loudly and made an unusual fuss of making sure the door was bolted before turning back around. Thankfully Cas was fully dressed when he did.

“Uh, hey,” he said lamely.

“Hey,” said Cas, confusion creasing his brow. Dean coughed. There was a beat of silence.

“Uh, so, you didn’t get much I could actually make a meal with from the store, but I remembered I had these in the trunk, so we’ve got, uh, grilled cheese sandwiches with, uh, turkey substitute and marinara sauce,” said Dean. “And pie. And whiskey. That is, if you’re hungry. I wasn’t sure, what with your mojo being all… funky,” he shrugged.

“Actually, I’m starving,” said Cas, realising that his stomach was grumbling so much it almost felt like it was trying to eat itself. “That sounds great.”

“Coming right up,” said Dean. He put the food on the counter and poured two glasses of whiskey, one of which he handed to Cas, who started to say thank you before yawning loudly. There was silence for a few minutes as Dean began preparing the food. Cas watched him closely.

“Dean-” said Cas.

“Cas-” said Dean, simultaneously. 

They shared a smile, and a chuckle, and a silence.

“You first,” said Cas, eventually.

“Okay,” said Dean. “I think you should go home. Back to the bunker, I mean. Whatever’s going on with your mojo, if you’re… if you’re sick or something, you’re not safe. I can take care of this on my own.”

“No, Dean, that’s a bad idea. I’m fine. Really. But something doesn’t feel right about this. I think we could be walking into a trap.”

“A trap? How could it possibly be a trap? We got the location from the men of letters archives. If this was a trap it would have to have been set up over fifty years ago. That’s insane!”

“Is it?” said Cas. “First we get an anonymous tip off about a djinn in Arizona, which turns out to be an afrit, that kidnaps and would have killed you if I hadn’t used my powers. Then by some coincidence we find a journal that leads us almost to the exact same place, on the way to which we encounter a mysterious energy that blocks my powers?”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds suspicious. But I mean, that’s life for us! When do we not escape by the skin of our teeth and run into mysterious crap?

“Dean, something is going on here,” insisted Cas.

“The only thing going on is those afrits getting iced ASAP,” said Dean.

“Speaking of ice - don’t you think it’s weird that it’s 15 degrees in New Mexico? When have you known it to rain so much in the desert?”

“Are you kidding? Now the weather is suspicious? When did you become such a conspiracy theorist? It’s just a storm. Eat your dinner,” Dean added, shoving a plate down in front of Cas.

The angel looked down at his plate. It smelled good, despite the questionable ‘tofurkey’. Momentarily forgetting their argument, he bit into it. It tasted better than it looked and Cas made a noise that was almost indecent. Dean looked at him.

“Dude,” he said.

“Yeah?” said Cas, mouth full. He didn’t look up from his sandwich.

Dean found himself grinning. He could never stay mad at Cas. It wasn’t like Sam, with whom he could hold a grudge for months - Cas always did something dumb and endearing without meaning to and Dean couldn’t help forgiving him. 

They finished their meal in companionable silence, and when the plates had been cleared Cas yawned and stretched and declared himself ready for bed. Dean raised an eyebrow, but told him to go ahead. Cas took off his jeans and plaid, leaving himself in boxers and t-shirt. He reclaimed the blankets from where Dean had left them on the floor, and settled into bed.

Dean watched him for a little while from the dinner table, whiskey in hand and brow furrowed. There was something wrong with Cas. He didn’t think there was a trap, or some kind of angel blocking forcefield. He was convinced that it was Cas’ missing grace that was screwing him up, and his fist clenched as he silently promised himself that he would get it back, no matter what. The hunter retrieved Robert’s journal and settled down to get some answers.

**Author's Note:**

> Spotify Playlist (Includes sneak preview of future chapter titles) - https://play.spotify.com/user/1181113638/playlist/6m70C16en48VxFG6s0i9pz


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